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The crush at Bainbridge House was unbearable. John had only just entered and already he wished to leave. But he had duties to attend to: greet his hostess, make idle chit-chat with the lords, and dance with the Duchess of Somerset. After that, he would be free. He had promised Her Grace he would be present at the ball. She was adamant that he attend, and he couldn’t very well refuse, lest she think he was not interested. And hewasinterested.
The duchess was beautiful, spirited, lively, and a delightfully entertaining conversationalist. More importantly, she was an heiress and from what he gleaned from their conversations, she was more than ready to be wed. But she was a duke’s granddaughter, a duchess. She loved the parties, soirees, and balls. She thrived in a social setting, on the dance floor, among crowds of people. Everything he loathed. What kind of life would it be for a young exuberant girl, locked away in the country with a grumpy old soldier, a hermit with nightmares and occasional hallucinations?
That was the problem: he actually liked the girl. If he didn’t care for her, he would probably be content with ruining her life forever. But watching the life drain from her eyes was not something he wanted to see in someone so happy and full of vigor. Much less did he wish to be the reason for it. Clydesdale was right; she was used to a good life, loving parents, and a grandfather who would have gotten her the moon if she would but ask. John was not what she needed, and having another regret was not something he needed either. And he knew without a shadow of a doubt that if he married her and ruined her life, he would add one more sin to his collection.
Nevertheless, there he was, in a ballroom, waiting to meet her, dance with her, and propose marriage.
He’d come in a bit later than was fashionable so that he wouldn’t need to wait for his intended to show up. He didn’t want to linger while the guests were still arriving, and the quicker he could go about his business, the quicker he would be back in his dank old room, staring at the empty walls.
However, finding anyone in this beehive was impossible. He needed to concentrate on his breathing and hope that the sound of blood rushing through his veins would drown out the noise of the ballroom. After maneuvering through the crowd, he finally noticed his flame-haired bride-to-be. When he came over to greet her and ask for a dance, it turned out her dance card was already almost full.Almost. Because she had saved him one waltz. John was pleasantly surprised. Another clear sign that she welcomed his attentions.
Why, he couldn’t tell. She was always surrounded by a sea of beaux.
The waltz, however, was three sets away, and he had to occupy himself somehow in the meantime. He’d decided to walk toward the card room when a heavy hand settled on his shoulder.
“John,” said a familiar voice. John turned and saw the large frame of an old military friend. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Or should I say, Ashbury? You’ve certainly moved up in the world.” A deep rumbling laugh followed the declaration.
“Ramsey,” John greeted his friend. Ramsey was several inches taller and several stones heavier than John. His hair was bright orange and his eyes the color of the sea during the storm. He was amiable as always, smiling at his friend. Ramsey and John had not served together, but they’d crossed paths regularly during the war.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you in ages. It’s as if you crawled under a rock once you sold your commission. Last I heard, you were getting your title, and then you disappeared. Civilian life’s treating you well, huh?” Ramsey patted John on his shoulder and laughed loudly.
“Well enough,” John answered succinctly. “How about you?”
“Well, I sold my commission years ago, married, have three little brats now. At home with them, I feel like I am back at war.” He laughed jovially. “Sometimes I even think I’d rather be back. Commanding two hundred officers is nothing compared to three little babes.” He patted John on the shoulder once again and continued his one-sided conversation.
“By the way, I saw Lieutenant Colonel Harris recently. We got to reminiscing. Remember Badajoz? That’s where we all met for the first time. Bullets flying, horses falling on their arses, and there you were…” Ramsey continued his good-natured narrative, but John couldn’t hear him anymore; he couldn’t hear anything over the loud buzzing in his ears. He had trouble drawing a breath and suddenly felt like collapsing.Oh, Lord, it is happening again,was all John could think before bolting toward the doors closest to him.
Ramsey tried to stop him, or at least, John saw him stretching an arm toward him. But John darted away and made his way through the crowd. He was trembling and sweating profusely. He had a feeling he would cast up his accounts right there on the ballroom floor. John hastily opened the first door on the left, closed it, and stood leaning against it for what could have been minutes or hours.
When his breathing slowed, he ventured farther into a spacious room that was sparsely illuminated by the full moon outside. John found a lone candle and a tinderbox beside it. He lit the candle and collapsed on the chair closest to it. He leaned on his elbows and lowered his aching head into his hands.
Would he ever get rid of these headaches and nightmares, or was it his destiny to suffer through them for the sins he had committed during his years as an officer? He closed his eyes and concentrated on the muffled noises coming from the ballroom.I am back home, there is peace, I am not going back to war. I am home, I am never going back to war,he repeated over and over to himself.
* * *
Samantha was never a wallflower, but the age and looks of her partners had changed for the worse proportionally to the number of years she’d been out on the marriage mart. She almost looked forward to the next year, when she could finally sit with the spinsters and dowagers, no longer expected to dance with the gentlemen, unless they were her relatives.
Her brothers always danced with her if they were present, but they rarely were, having the unfair advantage of being male and skipping the whole charade of the season unless they deemed it necessary to find a wife. And none of her brothers was looking to take on that responsibility.
Alan was still young, but he was only three years younger than Sam and she did not think it fair that he was excused for being too young, while she had been here on display for years.
The suffocating heat in the ballroom made her itchy. To top it all off, her new stockings kept sliding out of her garters. It was all right as long as she was sitting, but once she started dancing, her left stocking kept inching away. She could just imagine it—during a waltz with some stocky old lord, her stocking would slide right off her leg and plop to the floor.Thatwould be an embarrassment to remember for years.
As soon as the reel finished, she walked quickly in the direction of the powder room to fix her stockings. The progress she made in that direction was minimal, since she had to plow through the sea of bodies to get there. She would have to cross the ballroom to reach it, and with a crush such as this, it would take forever. Sam slipped into an empty hallway instead. She entered the first room on the left and sighed in relief.
The room seemed unoccupied, although a lone candle stood on the table in the far right corner. She walked a little farther into the room, turned her back to the candle, and hiked up her skirts to fix her garter.
“What are you doing?” a masculine voice demanded from behind her.
Sam gave a high-pitched yelp and whirled around. A shadow moved closer to the candle.
“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” the shadow said. “But I was hoping for some solitude.”
Sam opened and closed her mouth several times before she could get her voice out. Her face heated from mortification. Of course, it was rather dark, so there was a possibility the gentleman hadn’t seen her with her skirts up to her waist.
“Solitude,” she finally repeated, regaining her wits. “During the ball, in a house full of people.”
“Yes, solitude. In a dark, empty room away from the ballroom. So, if you please?” He gestured toward the door.
